


In Need of Shelter

by etrangerici



Series: My Father Always Said... [1]
Category: NCIS, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I didn't kill anyone, Jack can't help but pick up strays, Major Character death is mentioned, OMG stop tagging, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sorta-PTSD, Tony Feels, Tony Needs a Hug, Who let Tony drive home?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etrangerici/pseuds/etrangerici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack was prone to collecting strays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Need of Shelter

Jack hated grocery shopping. He especially hated the kind of starting-from-scratch shopping that you had to do when you moved. _Stocking the pantry._ The whole point of a pantry was to have stuff when you needed it, without having to _shop_ for it.

“Uh-huh.” He also hated being _that guy_. The one on the cell phone who couldn’t just talk to people from the office or home. “Yes, Daniel, I saw the report. I will read it, I promise.”

God only knew when he would ever need five pounds of sugar, but it belonged in the pantry, so he dropped the bag into the cart. He was debating between flour and Bisquick (had he ever really needed flour for anything? Bisquick meant pancakes, biscuits, shortbread. Flour meant cookies, fried chicken. _Both, then_.) when his spidey senses started tingling. “Uh-huh.” Jack let Daniel natter on for a bit as he casually turned to look down the aisle. “Sure Daniel, say hey to T for me. Gotta go, 'bye.” Jack snapped the phone shut and slowly slipped it into his jacket pocket, making sure to shut off the ringer. The last thing he wanted right now was a sudden noise.

Six-plus, brown and green-or-blue, young-ish, weapon partially hidden by the jacket. In this part of DC, probably law enforcement, not armed forces, not with that hair. The fine trembling in the kid’s hands, together with the glassy eyes, spelled PTSD or shock and if it were shock the EMTs would never have let him go. Telegraphing for all he was worth, moving smoothly and slowly, Jack stepped nearer and spoke softly, “seems a shame to go to all that effort.”

“Huh?” Green eyes looked up from dazed contemplation of boxes of brownie mix.

“C’mon, you look like you could use something hot and sweet.” Jack was projecting _calm_ and _harmless_ with all his might, hoping the kid would follow along. Without a thought for the groceries he abandoned, Jack touched fingertips to the small of the the kid’s back _(don’t force, don’t impede free movement, suggest - don’t push)_ and gently ushered him out of the store and into the Starbuck’s next door. He urged him into one of the ridiculously deep and comfy chairs in a corner _(away from the windows, full sight-lines to every exit)_ and went to order a large hot chocolate and the biggest piece of brownie-like decadence they had.

“Can you put a couple of ice cubes in that? I need it drinkable, not molten.” He asked the twenty-something fooling with frothy milk and stuff. He got a big grin and a something vaguely positive in response and was soon making his way back to his charge.

“Here, drink.” The kid still looked confused but obeyed. Gradually, the shakes eased and intelligence started to surface in the green eyes. Intelligence and shame, which Jack knew needed to be nipped in the bud. “I’m Jack. You just relax and get warm.”

The kid took another sip. “Tony.” Hands shifting on the cup, he stared back at Jack, “thanks.”

“No problem.” Jack watched the green eyes bounce around the coffee shop and started talking. He kept his voice even, tone calm and light. He wasn’t going for laughs or trying to confuse. Jack just wanted to give the kid – _Tony_ – space to ease back from his hyper-vigilance. 

He was well past the twenty-minute mark in a discourse on why the ultimate hot chocolate experience was the first cup after a long hockey practice when you’ve just changed back into sneakers when he thought Tony might be calmed all the way down. Which was good, ‘cause Jack was starting to get tired of the sound of his own voice.

“You got someone at home?” he asked quietly after a few minutes of watching Tony nod and jerk with exhaustion. 

The kid shrugged and shook his head. “It’s fine, I’ll just crash in front of a movie.”

 _Like hell,_ Jack thought as he collected the cups and napkins for the trash. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Look, I don’t know what happened – don’t need to know – but there’s no way you should be alone right now.” Jack unlocked the passenger door of his rental car and nudged Tony into the seat. “You need to sleep and I don’t have anywhere I need to be.”

“Right.” Jack pulled out of the garage and ignored the green-eyed glare trained on him. At least the kid was no longer shaking. “Marines?”

Jack snorted. “I look like a jarhead to you?” 

Tony blinked and studied his benefactor. “Okay, with that attitude, it’s gotta be Air Force.”

“You betcha.” Jack pulled into the narrow drive at his sublet townhouse and paused as he got out of the car. Leaning on the roof of the car, he gazed at Tony. “Jack O’Neill,” he said and held a hand out across the car roof.

“Tony DiNozzo,” the kid replied, meeting Jack’s eyes and clasping his hand in a solid grip. His eyes flicked up to the house, then back to Jack, “and thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jack snarked as he led the way into the sparsely furnished space. “Left all the supplies back at the store.” Tony smiled slightly and staggered under a sudden wave of exhaustion. Jack caught him, sent him into the bathroom with sweat pants and a t-shirt, then found the extra bedding and made up the couch. At the sound of the bathroom door opening, he went to fetch his guest and got Tony sprawled and snoring on the couch in minutes.

He watched over the kid for a while, then went to the kitchen to grab a beer and sat down at the breakfast bar so that he could keep an eye on his guest while plowing through reports. Not Daniel’s, though he’d promised, but the ones that Hammond had left him to get up to speed on his new posting. Out of habit, he turned on the small television on the counter to let the buzz of ZNN keep him company. A breaking story and mention of a sniper caught his attention. There were no names released but there was some grainy footage and he recognized the NCIS windbreakers behind the barricades. A sick suspicion started to grow in Jack’s gut, and he walked over to the living room and fished out Tony’s ID folder. He grimaced as his fears were confirmed. 

He put the ID back and went to use the secure phone in his home office. While he waited to be connected through the backdoor number into automated voicemail, he booted his computer and initiated a couple of record requests.

“Hey, Tom. It’s Jack O’Neill. I know this is a bad time, I just wanted to let you know Tony DiNozzo’s sleeping on my couch – he’s okay, there’s nothing you need to do, don’t worry about it. I’ll drop him off in the morning. If there’s anything you need, you know how to reach me. See ya.”

He hung up the phone and started reading up on NCIS’s MCRT, the agent they’d lost and the agent he’d found.

 

 


End file.
